


A beginning

by wanderingsmith



Series: Like a rock [1]
Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-28 01:09:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10060973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderingsmith/pseuds/wanderingsmith
Summary: At the beginning with you.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I ain't got no money, and nobody'd be daft enough to pay me for this. As it is thought, so let it be said; you make the toys, I play with 'em.
> 
> From the end, to the beginning... lol, different fandoms have different 'scenes' that just seem like you *have* to write, sooner or later. for these guys, I reckon The Meeting is definitely one. Just kinda ironic that it appeared to me last night, just a few days after the The End appeared....

Goodnight had never had much thought for 'love at first sight'. 

His father had died an untimely and foolish death just as he'd begun to realize he'd much rather run off into academia with others his age than continue to learn the family plantation. It wasn't beyond the realm of belief that distance from responsibility, and the company to be found in such establishments, might have opened his mind to some real life applications of the books he'd devoured every moment he could hide away.

By the time the war rolled up to his door, he'd been a strained 28 year old directing operations responsible for the wellbeing of several hundred families, including his mother and younger sister. He'd had no time for romance, let along the ridiculous desire to be blinded that seemed to infect so many of the young people around him. 

When the war took everything that had been his life and left him ragged shards of a man, love was only a word that he could quote out of the corners of his mind that had been buried by the time the war opened its weapons on his sanity; buried enough to merely get exposed by the artillery. It was a word as hollow to him as hope as he straggled across the slowly civilizing West, pretending to make a living hunting men supposedly more evil than he was.

The notion of feeling either love or hope, himself, was not even a consideration, and the sight of fellow humans left him shaking, inside, more often than not; waiting to be called out for a coward. Or a murderer.

All of that disappeared when he looked up from pouring himself another glass of rotgut from the barely-started bottle on his table in a foul example of a drinking establishment in a dirt-bound, horse-less excuse of a town. And watched the most beautiful man he'd ever clapped eyes on glide through the open door.

He wasn't blind to the ragged condition of the man's attire. Was vaguely aware that he was in as dire need of a bath as Goodnight himself.

Yet all he saw was dark eyes that drew every thought from him, and left him feeling warm, at *ease*, for the first time in too long to think. Tired slitted eyes in such fine features that he could not even fathom looking away. 

When a tableful of drunken cowboys started jostling the man at the bar, Goodnight's heart clenched, reaching for his riffle while trying to keep his focus on nothing but those eyes in the faint hope that his mind would remain clear. He'd barely raised the weapon to his shoulder when that lithe body turned into a spinning whirlwind of flashing death and he froze, staring in unashamed awe.

When the last fool was down, he laid his Winchester back on the table and cleared his throat, breath catching when the man's eyes flashed to him. He must have looked a fool, staring with lord only knew what thoughts clear on his face. But rather than turn away, the man stared back and.. Goodnight could have sworn he saw some tension on his face ease to curiosity before he came over to Goodnight's table. When he stood opposite the dirty, rough wood from him, Goodnight waved toward his bottle vaguely, wondering if he was as wide-eyed as he felt, finally managing to rasp out a clumsy, "Drink?" 

There was no response, but the man reached out and took Goodnight's glass, the movement smooth and seemingly un-thought, yet Goodnight felt himself tense, his eyes following the blood-specked digits he'd just watched grip, twitch and flip knives with impressive skill, as they came within inches of his crotch; and then rose to tip the chipped glass against oddly pretty lips that took a slug of the swill in it. 

Now Goodnight knew just how terrible the stuff *was*; he'd barely managed to sip it, up to now. So he could not quite help the crack of laughter when the fellow's up-to-now imperturbable mask was broken by a scowl at the remaining liquid in the glass after taking that unfortunate swallow, pretty lips wrinkling under the now-damp wisps of hair trimmed into a neat line. "Should have warned you," he shivered as the strangely soothing darkness of the man's eyes reached into him again, trying to remember what he'd meant to say, "..It's.. barely what you'd call drinkable."

That was a *smile*!! He'd seen it! Just a tiny quirk- "Had worse."

And Goodnight laughed in some mad relief, nodding unhesitating agreement to the oddly-accented comment that had the tang of dryness to his ear, "As have I, friend." He took a quick breath, feeling completely, strangely *light*, all of a sudden, the smile still on face something that he barely remembered the feeling of, and nodded at the bodies littering the saloon, "Those you left alive are going to wake soon, and no doubt there's someone around here that fancies themselves the law. Might I offer that we take this foul liquid with us as we depart for friendlier evening accommodations?" 

A few extra blinks seemed to indicate some sort of surprise, though all the fellow said as he reached for Goodnight's bottle was "You always talk like that?"

He was quickly reaching for his hat and riffle and could only answer distractedly "What do you mean??" as he hurried to follow his new friend, frowning faintly at the ragged edges of the vest stretched by the shoulders that he'd just watched deliver powerful yet controlled blows.

**Author's Note:**

> Why do I have the feeling I'll want to edit this every time I look at it?
> 
> lol, <https://68.media.tumblr.com/2eca30290d0604d006c81c5f249c0429/tumblr_ojchae4W4e1w2riu2o1_1280.png>


End file.
